


Date Night

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your relationship with the love of your life previously ended on a housekeeper-sacked-by-master note, how do you get things back on track?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely Rufeepeach's fault. Entirely. I don't do fluff. So yes. Her fault.

It was raining when someone knocked at the door.

Belle looked up from her book anxiously. 

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't at home, and almost everyone who had approached the house had been a complete stranger to her. The one person who had tried to barge in was the last person she wanted to see, and the thought of another confrontation with the Queen made her stomach squirm queasily.

The knock came again a patient rapping.

She put a marker in her book and got up, approaching the front door.

A peek through the yellow pane reassured her enough to open the door.

"Did you forget your key?" she asked, smiling at Rumpelstiltskin.

He pulled his hand from behind his back and presented her with a bouquet of flowers. "I wanted to do things properly," he said. "Would you care to come out for dinner with me?"

Belle stared at him as she took the flowers. "What?"

He smiled, almost as shyly as he had when he had offered her the rose. "If we're going to... be us, I thought you might like to do it properly," he said. "Not just going from housekeeper and Dark One." He bowed slightly at the waist. "Would you do me the honour of dining with me?"

Belle's cheeks felt warm and the sound that escaped her was undeniably a giggle. "I would like that very much," she said, curtseying prettily. It was amazing how quickly it all came back, even after so long closed up in a cell. She looked down at her pinafore. "Should I change?"

"Belle, you could wear a sack and I would think you radiant," he said, the honesty in his voice sending fresh heat rushing across her cheeks. 

She hugged the flowers. "Where are we going?" she asked. "Formal or informal?"

"The Marine bistro," he replied, "so not too formal." He smiled hopefully. "They've got a table reserved."

She beamed. "I'll put these in water and change," she said, beckoning him in. "Ten minutes."

He laughed and there was the familiar, nervous warmth. "So eager?"

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she headed towards the kitchen. "Forever."

In the end, it was closer to twenty minutes. She had donned her favourite baby blue dress and she took a little longer to pin her hair up a few curls spilling loose. She knew she would never be any kind of sultry vixen or temptress, but Rumpelstiltskin loved her and that gave her a warm, happy glow like no other. 

She descended the stairs, tucking one of the flowers from the bouquet into her hair.

“Will I do?” she asked, leaning over the rail.

Rumpelstiltskin looked up from the newspaper he was examining. The paper sank immediately and she knew she would more than do. The idiotic smile was creeping back onto her face, she just knew it. 

“You look lovely.”

She skipped down the stairs. It was ridiculous to feel so giddy, but in the days since they had been reunited, they had both been so careful around one another, not quite sure what to make of their relationship, not quite sure how to proceed or to return to what they had before.

He approached and offered her his arm. “My lady.”

“Good sir,” she replied with a small smile, her hand settling to rest in the crook of his arm.

People would look at them, she knew. 

Everyone knew who Rumpelstiltskin was, and everyone knew enough to fear him. But everyone was still curious enough to look at the young woman who was happy to loop her arm through his and lean into him and love him.

She couldn’t care less if they stared.

Once upon a time, she had been a brave young woman and he a mighty but fearful sorcerer.

Now, they were a man and a woman together, and if anyone tried to pass judgement on them for what he was or what she had led her into his life, she was handy at making it clear that no one else had any right to stick their face into her business. 

The Mother Superior - the Blue Fairy, Rumpelstiltskin told her later - had learned that lesson to her regret, when she sat down beside Belle in the diner, and spoke to her like she had some kind of learning difficulty. No one had any right to tell Belle who she should and shouldn’t love, especially not a Nun or a fairy. The woman had squealed like a startled pig when a pitcher of ice water cascaded over her head. 

Rumpelstiltskin drove them down to the restaurant. 

Cars still took some getting used to. The whole world did. Regina hadn’t considered it worthwhile to give Belle memories beyond the walls of her cell, so she was still learning. The car was easier now that she understood the mechanics, and Rumpelstiltskin was eternally patient with her.

He climbed out of the car, and by the time he reached her side, she was already out and standing on the sidewalk. He gave her a stern look that she had defied his next attempt at chivalry. “This is meant to be done properly, dearie,” he said. “I should have helped you out of the car.”

“I’ll let you make it up to me,” she said, her eyes dancing. She took his arm again. “Come on. I’m starving.”

As expected, every eye in the restaurant swivelled towards them when they walked in the door. Rumpelstiltskin’s expression tightened, every line on his face deepening, and he glowered around forbiddingly until Belle rapped on his hand atop his cane.

“None of that,” she said, leaning into his arm. “Ignore them. Remember who you’re here for.”

The smile that softened his features made her tingle all the way down to her toes. “How could I forget?”

“Dark One?”

Rumpelstiltskin turned a warning look on the Maitre D’, the man who had formally been King Midas in the fairytale realm. “Midas, if you value your golden touch, I would have you use my name in front of my lady.” Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes narrowed. “Not my title.”

Midas gave him such a haughty look that Belle had to stifle a giggle. “You didn’t specify when you reserved the table, Rumpelstiltskin,” he said. He bowed slightly to Belle. “Milady, are you sure I can’t sit you with more… genial company?”

Belle smiled at Rumpelstiltskin. “He can be genial enough when he wants to be,” she said, then looked at Midas. “Somewhere private would be ideal. I really don’t want to be the dinner show for the rest of your patrons.”

Midas smiled warmly. “Of course,” he said. “Anything for a lady.”

Belle had to hide a smile as Rumpelstiltskin muttered something rude under his breath. She tugged on his arm with hers. “Behave,” she whispered to him. “You want to have a good first date, don’t you?”

He turned a pleading look on her. “Just one person into a snail? Just for good measure? It would stop them staring.”

She pulled him to a stop. “Let them stare,” she said, then rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I don’t care who sees me with you. I just want to know you don’t mind either.” 

He stared at her with that dazed little smile playing around his lips. “You are a wonder,” he declared. “And I agree. Let them stare.” He looked around at the restaurant with a grin that bordered on the wicked. “Let them see who the terrible Rumpelstiltskin loves.”

Her cheeks flushed and she giggled, tugging him onwards after Midas..

Midas was as good as his word, leading them to a private booth. There was a candle in a pretty, patterned pot on the central of the table, casting flickering images of waves onto the pale tablecloth.

Rumpelstiltskin stood until Belle was suitably seated, and she smiled as he slid into the booth opposite her.

“This is lovely,” she said, resting her arms on the table. “Did you plan this part?”

“As much as Midas was willing to cooperate,” he said with a small, sheepish smile. “I asked for somewhere pleasant and without distraction.” His eyes met hers, and she saw colour touch his cheeks as much as it warmed her own. He ran his fingertips along the edge of the table. “I wanted this to be your perfect night.”

Belle offered him her hand and he laid his palm to hers. “Our night,” she said with a smile. “It takes two to make us.”

For a moment, he looked decades, centuries younger than his true age, and so nervous.

Midas approached with menus and the moment was gone as Rumpelstiltskin drew his hand back, his expression stern again. “Bring out a bottle of your best wine,” he said. “A white. Something that goes well with lobster.”

Belle looked at him in delight. “We’re having lobster?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes stayed fixed on the menu. “I-I remember you had a fondness for seafood,” he said so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. He remembered. Three decades without her, and he remembered a passing comment she once made. In his mountainous home, there had been a dearth of the seafood her village thrived on, and only once had she lamented the lack. And he remembered.

“What about you?” she asked, not even bothering to open the menu. “Do you like it?”

He looked across at her, looking almost boyish in his shyness. “I’ve never tried it.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “Never? How long have you been alive?”

He flushed, flustered. “Long enough. I never had an impulse.”

She reached over to clasp his hand on the side of the menu. “Then pick something you know you like. We can share.” His eyes met hers and he smiled and all at once, she wished there was no table between them.

In the end, he ordered a simple fish dish with barely any condiments, while she chose to go for the lobster. He would laugh himself silly watching her try to crack the thing open, but that was half the fun of lobster. She and her father had never managed to get through one without one or the other of them sending pieces flying through the air.

Belle pulled one foot up onto the bench beneath her. It was cushioned leather, and squeaked softly as she shifted her weight. She propped her arms on the table, looking across at him with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugged, folding his hands together on the table.

It was strange how easily they could talk together at home, yet in this place, he became flustered and shy, so tentative. 

Well, it was a date. She had skimmed through enough light novels to know how they were meant to go. There was awkwardness and getting to know one another, which was hardly necessary in their case. She offered her hand again, watching the flickering waves dance on her skin instead of the tablecloth, and smiled when he took it. 

“Tell me something about you,” she said.

Rumpelstiltskin looked across the table at her, the dancing flame of the candle alight in his dark eyes. “About me? Oh, I’m quite dull, dearie. You saw my life in the Dark Castle.”

“And I saw when you weren’t there,” she replied. “I remember when you went away, when you had deals to be made, and when you came back.” She knelt up a little. “Tell me about before that. Tell me about when you were young.”

For a moment, she thought he would refuse, hide that part of himself so far removed from her. 

“I wanted to be a spinner because the girls liked spinners,” he finally said, and she could see he was blushing. “They used to say a man who had deft fingers at the wheel could be counted on to be a deft husband.”

Belle stared at him, then dissolved into giggles. “Really?”

He met her eyes and there was a glint of mischief. “You’ll have to tell me,” he said.

She was blushing again, but smiled at him. “Deal,” she said, squeezing his fingers, deft ones if he was to be believed. “Did you have to find a teacher?”

He grinned crookedly. “Unfortunately not,” he said. “My mother was a spinner. You can’t imagine how awkward that conversation was. She knew all the stories as well, and…” He shrugged with a rueful chuckle. “That’s not something you want your mother to know about your ambitions.”

Belle stared at him, then burst out laughing imagining a young and even more awkward Rumpelstiltskin trying to explain to his mother that he wanted to follow in her footsteps, all the while knowing she knew exactly why. 

She was still laughing when their meals were brought, then Midas withdrew, leaving them to their food. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes glinted. “I knew you would laugh, you wicked little thing.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that!” she said, smiling, kneeling up on the bench.

“Not all of us were wise young things such as yourself,” he countered, watching with interest as she turned over the lobster and examined it. “Checking if it’s been cooked?”

“Checking whether it’s a boy or girl,” she replied with a smile. “Papa used to swear that male lobsters didn’t taste half as good as female ones.” She started twisting the legs off, setting them in a neat row on the side of the plate to be picked clean after. “I think he was talking nonsense.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched as she removed the claws, then carefully broke each open with the nutcracker. “What on earth are you doing? Is there some arcane ritual to be performed before eating?”

She laughed. “Habit,” she said, picking up her fork and skewering one of the juiciest pieces of meat, offering it across the table. “Try it.”

He hesitated, then let her feed him the morsel. 

“Well?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Your lobster is safe from my clutches,” he said. “Enjoy de-shelling your dinner, my dear.”

“Well, don’t come crying to me if you find yourself with a bone,” she countered, a split-second before her brain caught up with her. Mortified, she glanced across at him and could see from the twitching of his lips that he was trying not to laugh.

She ducked her head to hide her blush and squeezed the nutcracker shut too hard. Both of them yelped in dismay as bits of lobster and shell went flying all over them. 

If there had been any tension before, picking lobster out of each other’s hair was certainly a way to end it. She confessed this was also traditional, and he had lamented that in his day, table manners were at least something to expect from a lady. For that, she flicked another piece of shell at his tie. 

By the time they finished their meal, a bottle of fine wine later, he insisted they get a taxi home for their well-being. It was definitely one of his better ideas, she decided, as she snuggled against him in the back seat.

“Are you going to come to my place for coffee?” she murmured drowsily.

“Mm?”

She looked up at him, and smiled. “In the books and the movies,” she said. “Coffee.”

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “Not on a first date,” he said. “I think we need to build up to that.”

She drew his arm more snugly around her. “What about a second date, then?” she asked.

“Lady’s choice, next time,” he agreed. “And you can do all the work.”

She pulled a face at him, then nestled happily against his side. “I’ll come up with something perfect.”

He ran his fingertips down her arm, and she shivered pleasantly. “I’m sure you will,” he murmured. “After all, it’s you.”

She wondered if it was fair or right to be so happy, when the whole world around them was still teetering on the brink of a magical war. Years of isolation and imprisonment made than an easy question to answer: she had every right to be as happy as she liked with the man she loved. It was simple.

Together, they emerged from the taxi and walked up towards the front door. Rumpelstiltskin was leaning on his cane as well as her. The wine hadn’t been strong, but neither of them really drank a great deal, so it was enough to leave them both pleasantly tipsy.

“Thank you,” she said, as he fumbled with his keys. “It was a wonderful date.”

He paused as the door swung open. “I know it’s a little early for coffee, but…”

The question hung on the air, as it had every moment since he had confessed that he loved her too.

Belle stepped closer to him, lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him gently. It was as soft as their first kiss, as tentative, and when she drew back, he sighed, his eyes closed. 

“Good night, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, stepping back with a small smile.

He opened his eyes, smiled. “Good night, Belle.”

Together, they stepped into the house.


	2. Second Date

A storm had blown in. The rain drops pattered against the glass, rattling like hailstones.

Rumpelstiltskin shook out his umbrella as he stepped into the house. Despite all his efforts, even magic had not been enough to keep him dry. In part, he knew that was because his latest battles with both Regina and the Blue Fairy had been draining, but for the most part, it was down to the fact that Maine had never and would never be called the Sunshine State. 

Belle pattered down the stairs. "Thank the Gods," she declared at the sight of him. "I thought you were going to get washed away."

"Unfortunately, this is normal weather," he said ruefully, leaning against the wall to remove one waterlogged shoe then the other. "Would you be a dear and fetch me some newspaper?"

She darted into the living room and returned a moment later, balling up paper and he wadded it into the toes of his shoes. A base measure, but enough to dry them out. "Your socks are soaked," she observed, helping him out of his jacket. "Go up and have a bath. You'll catch your death otherwise."

He cast a suspicious look at her. "Are you up to something, Belle?" he asked.

Her cheeks pinked and she tried her best to look innocent. "I just don't want you to get sick," she said, shooing him towards the stairs. "Take your time."

"Hmm."

She made a face. "Don't you 'hmm' me," she said, giving him another gentle shove. "Now go before you get a chill."

He shook his head, smiling, and ascended the stairs. He was unsurprised to find the bath already full and steaming. She had even added a splash of the oils that eased the ache in his knee. She had taken to indoor plumbing with delight. It was much more relaxing to have a bath, she said, when you didn't have to carry buckets of water to the tub.

It was only when he was sunk neck-deep in almost-scalding water that he recalled what day it was. A drowsy smile crossed his lips. They had allocated one day a week to be their date night. It would probably be considered ridiculous by anyone else in Storybrooke, given that they spent every day together and their nights wrapped so tightly around one another, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other started.

All the same, their relationship was essentially in its early stages.

It didn't matter that they were living together.

It didn't matter that she was his true love or vice versa.

What mattered was that she was a lady and she deserved to have a proper courtship before they went any further.

Despite popular misconception, Belle had not yet been ravished by the terrible Rumpelstiltskin. There had been all of two kisses, one a lifetime ago, and another at the end of their first date the previous week. Rumpelstiltskin knew there were probably rumours flying about the poor, violated young woman, taken advantage of day and night. No one would believe that he wouldn't touch her unless she consented.

He could still remember the look on the Sheriff's face when Belle had insisted that no, she had promised to go with him forever, that she was quite happy to do so, and no, she really didn't need a hero to come in with all guns blazing to save her. Emma insisted on giving Belle her card, just in case. She gave Rumpelstiltskin a stern look, as if that could impel him to behave, and just on principle, he had smirked and put an arm possessively around Belle's waist. Belle had swatted him for that as soon as Emma left.

They were too well matched in some ways. She was one of the few people who could recognise when he was being playful, and for that, he adored her. 

He emerged from the bath some half hour later, suitably pruney and the ache in his leg diminished to a tolerable level. Since she was clearly planning something, he took his time over shaving and dressing. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, his hair was almost dry against his shoulders.

He paused at the top of the stairs. Even from there, he could see the flicker of firelight, and he tapped his cane lightly on the top step. "Permission to descend, dear?" he called down.

"Granted!" she called back up and he could hear the smile in her voice. She was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, eyes shining. She had changed into a knee-length floral dress and her hair was in loose curls around her shoulders. "So you remembered?"

He gestured to his own clothing, his favourite shirt and tie matched with her favourite one of his suits, the jacket abandoned for the evening. "I even dressed for the occasion," he said with a smile. "I hope you don't expect us to venture out of the house tonight."

As soon as he reached the bottom step, she reached out to take his arm. "Well, I did plan to take you out for a picnic," she said, tucking herself neatly against his side. "But the storm has put a bit of a dampener on those plans, so I had to improvise."

"And that's why my living room is ablaze?"

She elbowed him in the ribs and rolled her eyes. "Our living room is perfectly fine," she said. He wondered if she realised that her choice of words made his heart skip a beat. "Now, close your eyes."

"Ah," he said. "It is ablaze and this is how you pretend it's not? If my eyes are closed, you think I won't notice the smouldering furniture?"

"Oh, shut up," she said, smiling. "Close your eyes."

He obediently shut them and felt the air ripple as she waved her hand in front of them. "Don't you trust me, dearie?"

"Not at all," she replied cheerfully, then guided him forward. He knew the house well enough to recognise when furniture had been moved. The chaise had been pushed out of the way and his bare feet encountered fabric on the floor that hadn't been there before. 

"Can I open my eyes?"

She released his arm. "Not yet," she said, her feet pattering this way and that across the floor. A cool wineglass was pressed into his hand, and a quick kiss was brushed across his cheek. 

"Now, can I open them?" he asked, turning his face in her direction. 

She giggled. "Okay," she agreed. "Now."

Despite the weather, she had stuck to her original plan. The furniture had been pushed back to clear the floor and she had laid out one of the blankets from the spare room in front of the fire, a feast laid out on it in bowls and plates. The fireplace had been cleared out, and she had a warm fire dancing in the grate, supplemented by candles along the mantle and on the small tables dotted around the room.

She gave him a small, hopeful smile, her own glass of wine resting between her fingertips. "I know it's not much."

"I think I prefer this to the great outdoors," he admitted, offering his glass. She tapped her own to his. "A toast," he said, "to a storm that has trapped us and a living room that is not on fire."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "A toast," she said, "to not having wine poured over your head for being a sarcastic tease."

He laughed, and their glasses clinked together again. "Hear hear," he said. 

She took a sip of her wine, then motioned for him to sit, then paused, a frown creasing her brow. "Will you be okay to sit on the floor?" she asked uncertainly. "I forgot about your leg."

"You may have to help me up," he said, choosing the cushion backed by one of the arm chairs. He held out his wine to her. "Would you...?" She took it at once, and with only a little awkwardness, he sat down. She handed his glass down to him, then settled to sit cross-legged on the blanket beside his outstretched legs. "There," he said. "That wasn't such a trial."

"We'll see when you try to get up after a few glasses of wine," she said, reaching out to lightly touch his knee, gently rubbing it. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were playing it up just to get sympathy."

He widened his eyes in mock shock. "Would I?"

She gave him the familiar mock-exasperated look. "Wouldn't you?"

He innocently sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of the glass.

Belle arranged her skirts over her knees. "Are you hungry?"

He glanced at the array of food. "I have a feeling you're trying to fatten me up, dear," he observed, snatching a couple of cherry tomatoes up in his hand and juggling them one-handed.

Belle snatched one out of the air, then laughed when the other slipped from his grip and bounced across the blanket. "Weren't you ever told not to play with your food?" she said reprovingly.

"Says the girl who threw lobster at me?" he said, then opened his mouth. She tossed the tomato and he managed to catch it between his teeth. 

Belle applauded, smiling, and picked up a plate for herself. "You asked for it," she said. "Anyone else would have done the same. Probably with something heavier than a lobster."

He swallowed down the tomato and nodded. "More than likely," he agreed. "There have been all kinds of things thrown my way in the past. Boulders. Knives. Flaming torches." He gave her an impish look. "Virginal daughters."

She swatted his leg. "That was one time, and you know it," she said with a sniff, "and I was hardly thrown."

"You threw yourself quite well," he said, smirking. "Everyone telling you that you couldn't, and there you were, tossing yourself into the monster's pit with the big, bad Rumpelstiltskin." He leaned a little closer to her, admiring the way the firelight cast her features in palest gold. "How do you like your monster's lair?"

She shoved a cracker and cheese into his mouth. "You live in a pink house," she said. "Hardly a lair." He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Anyway," she continued, "you know my opinion on monsters and how you suit that title." She shifted a little closer to him, until her thigh was warm against his through their clothes. She offered him another bite of her cracker. "Anyway, you're happy I threw myself at you."

It was a familiar game.

"I'm not unhappy," he agreed, and the way her smile lit her face made him smile in turn.

She portioned out the food for them, offering him morsels from her fingertips. He knew he probably had a ridiculous, soft expression on his face, but he didn't care. 

He reached over her legs to retrieve the wine bottle, to refill her glass. His thigh nudged against hers and he had to brace his hand behind her to keep from falling into her entirely. He met her eyes, their faces close together, and was close enough to feel the warmth of her blush. 

She was the one who closed the gap between them, darting in to claim a quick, soft kiss. 

The wine was forgotten. The bottle fell against the fireplace with a muted clink, as his hand curved against her cheek, lost beneath the tumbling dark curls of her hair and he drew her back to kiss her again. 

They broke apart a moment later when she squeaked in dismay. "The wine!" she exclaimed, leaning over to grab the bottle which had fallen onto its side. A puddle of red was spreading ominously towards the blanket. She scrambled to her feet, dashing to the kitchen.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned back against the chair, trying to catch his breath. On the whole, a little spilled wine was an acceptable price for a kiss. 

Belle returned a moment later, pushing the blanket back from the puddle to mop at it with cloths from the kitchen. He noticed that in doing so, she left even less space for her to sit, and the little space that was left was right beside him. He wondered briefly if she was learning cunning or if it was entirely accidental.

"Leave it for now," he said, patting the spot beside him on the blanket. "I don't think it's going anywhere."

Belle stepped lightly over the creased blanket and folded down to sit beside him, retrieving one of their plates. She set in it her lap. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I didn't think about the mess."

"Did you hear me complain?" he said with a smile. He hesitated, then moved his arm, offering her a place to nestle against his side. 

Belle snuggled against him without hesitation and propped her plate in his lap instead. "I'm glad there was a storm," she confided, accepting his wine glass in place of her own and taking a small sip. "There's something much nicer about sitting in front of a log fire when the wind's howling outside."

"I remember I once made the same argument," he said dryly, stealing some of her chicken, "when a certain young lady decided to go out and build a snowman."

"You were just grumpy because I was a better shot with a snowball than you," she said, smiling.

He snorted, offering her a bite of chicken. She nipped it out of his fingers and returned his wineglass to him.

Looking down at her, he couldn't help remembering the look on her face the first time she ventured out in the snow. Coming from a coastal town, she had only ever seen frost, and the mountains where his home was hidden were thick with snow in winter. 

She had dashed about like a child, laughing, leaving furrows in the knee-deep snow. Snow fairies were scattered across the lawns and when he emerged to find her, she hit him square in the face with a snowball. It was cheating to use magic in a snowball fight. However, that didn't extend to the tree she was hiding beneath. He jerked a branch with a spell, depositing a cascade of the stuff on top of her, making her squeal in surprise.

Of course, she'd ended up with a cold and snuffled her way through a week before accepting his medicine, but that was hardly his fault. 

That was when he had started to pay closer attention to his little maid.

Together, they picked through the remains of the food on the plate, sharing it and the wine.

"Belle," he murmured as she finally set the plate aside, "are you happy here with me?"

She took the glass from his hand and put it on the plate. "Do you think I would be here if I wasn't?" she said. She lifted her hand to brush his cheek. "I love you."

No matter how many times he heard it, no matter how many times she said it, it still sounded so impossible, so magical, so unbelievable. 

His lips twitched, the smile trembling there. "And I love you."

She smiled and by the dancing flames and flickering candlelight, she glowed. "So, date two is a success?"

He would not be himself if he didn't tease her a little. "Apart from the wine stains."

She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. "Do you actually want a third date?"

He kissed her hair. "If you would be so kind."

"Hmm." She snuggled against him. "I'll consider it." He drew her closer, fingertips drawing circles on her shoulder. "All right. I've considered it. Yes. Yes, I would be so kind." He could feel her smile against his shoulder through his shirt. "Something we haven't done before."

"A challenge?"

She tugged on his tie playfully. "Are you the all powerful, cunning Rumpelstiltskin or not?"

He chuckled. "Yes, yes, I am."

"Then I'm sure you'll be able to come up with something."

He nuzzled her hair. "A spell, a conjuration, a deal, yes," he said, "but dates... those are another matter entirely, and you know it."

"It's simple," she said, looking up at him with a small, knowing smile. "You'll be there and I'll be there, and we'll be there together."

He gazed at her. "That," he murmured, "I can do."


	3. Third Date

Belle ascended the stairs, holding the tray securely against her torso to stabilise it.

She knew Rumpelstiltskin would grumble about her playing the role of maid again, but if he was going to be ill, then she couldn't make him drag himself out of bed and downstairs, just for something to eat. She walked on bare feet along the polished wood of the floor towards the bedroom.

Once upon a time, she would have been embarrassed to be seen approaching an unmarried man's bedchamber. 

But once upon a time, she had stepped forward and placed herself in the hands of a man everyone considered a monster to save her family. She lived with him, the only person aside from him in his Dark Castle, and though she knew no one would believe it, she had been treated with more courtesy there than by half the Knights in her father's court.

Rumpelstiltskin had never even touched her in any way that might be considered inappropriate, even though she had secretly expected it. She knew they all had. No doubt everyone in her father's court believed that she had sold herself to be chattel to the strange and terrible monster.

And yet, even now, she was still a maiden.

They shared a bed, for he never wanted her far from him while he slept, but that was all. There were nights when one or the other had been woken by the terror that they had been torn apart by the Queen. It was easier to stave off nightmares when you woke if you could feel your loved one in your arms.

She had never expected to be courted, not after promising him forever, but now, Rumpelstiltskin was being every inch the gentleman. He didn't press his attentions, even though she knew she wouldn't object if he did. A few kisses, cuddling beside him by the fire, simply talking together. It was delightful and unexpected.

It was only a shame that their appointed date night was not going to be anything special. 

Belle nudged the bedroom door open with her elbow.

The room was dark and quiet, but she heard him stirring in the bed. He had been laid low for two days. 

Normally, it would have worried her, because it left him vulnerable, but on this occasion, he was safe. The cause had knocked all magic users for six. No one was quite sure what had happened. From the sound of it, someone had tried to increase their power, but the already unstable magic had rebelled and every magic user was stuck in bed with something that seemed almost like a bad bout of flu.

"Belle?" he murmured groggily.

"Just me," she agreed, approaching the bed. "I've got dinner."

He groped out and found the bedside lamp, flicking the light on. He looked pitiful, his hair lank around his pale face, but he smiled at the sight of her. "This brings back memories," he said, struggling to sit up, but giving up halfway and falling back against the pillows. 

"I thought it might," she said, setting the tray on the foot of the bed. She sat down beside him and reached behind him to pull the pillows up, then helped him sit up against them. She brushed the back of her fingers against his brow. "Are you feeling any better?"

He lifted one hand to run it over his face. Tiny beads of sweat were visible on his skin, but the shivers had subsided at least. "I've been worse," he said. "How long was I out for?"

She smoothed his hair gently. "You slept another five hours," she said. 

He tilted his head into her touch like a cat seeking a petting. "Five hours," he murmured. "Waste of time. Waste of energy."

"It's only a waste of energy when you have the energy to waste," she chastised. "Now, I've made you some food. You need to eat." He made a half-hearted, weary protest, but she fetched the tray anyway. "Hush. You know you have to eat, if you want to get better, even if you have no appetite."

He looked down at the platter, then up at her face suspiciously. "What's the occasion?" he asked. After all, it wasn't every day that she made his favourite meal. 

"You know," she said with a smile. She had already cut the meat into tiny, bite-sized portions, and she offered him the fork. "Do you think you could manage yourself?"

"I'm not helpless," he grumbled, taking the fork. All the same, after four forkloads, he lowered it to the side of the plate and leaned back against the pillows. It was hardly strenuous exercise, but it was taking his toll on him, so she drew the fork from his grip. 

"Do you want some more?"

He looked like a sullen child. "Please," he muttered, clearly unhappy at being completely helpless. 

She pulled her legs up on the bed beneath her, and skewered a selection of meat and vegetables, offering it to him. He still looked moody even as she fed him the small portion patiently, until she leaned in and kissed a smear of gravy from his lower lip. He drew back with a look of surprise.

"What was that for?"

She laughed. "To stop you sulking."

One side of his mouth turned up. "It might be working," he said with least innocent expression she had ever seen on his face. "Kiss me again?"

She knew she could never refuse him a kiss, especially not when he echoed her own words.

Tray, plate and fork were put aside and she leaned closer, bracing one hand against the headboard behind him. "So you do remember what day it is?" she murmured, meeting his dancing eyes.

"Day?" he echoed, a split-second before their lips met.

She grudgingly to admit he was still ill, when he fell back against the pillows, breathless and flushed, a moment later. She reached up to smooth his hair back from his brow gently. "Poor Rumpelstiltskin," she murmured. "I should leave you to rest."

His fingers circled her wrist, the touch so soft she could barely feel it. "Stay?" he asked, his eyes half-closed. "It's our night." His eyes flickered open. "Not romantic, I know, but at least it's something we haven't done before?"

She brushed her thumb along his cheek. "I'll take the dishes downstairs and fetch us some tea," she said. "Biscuits too?"

He shook his head. "Tea and you."

Belle leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow. "Don't go anywhere. If you try, I'll take pictures of you all swooned on the floor and post them on every lamppost in town."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "Cruel woman."

She climbed off the bed. "If that's the only way to make you behave, then so be it," she said. She collected the tray , and the spare tumblers and cups that were adorning the bedside cabinets. "Do you need anything else from downstairs?"

He toyed with the edge of the blanket. "Maybe a book?" he murmured. "I like it when you read."

She smiled. "I'll find something," she said. "Now, stay put."

It took a little time to boil the kettle and make the tea the way he liked it. 

She remembered the first time she had ever given him tea. He pursed his lips, screwed up his face like an offended cat, and pushed the cup back towards her, demanding to know if she was trying to poison him. It was partly a jest, but she blushed, mortified. Lessons followed, and all at once, she learned that tea wasn’t simply pouring hot water onto dry leaves. 

She tidied up the kitchen, then poured the water into the teapot to allow the leaves to brew.

A thought drew her to the china cabinet. It was silly and it was sentimental, but it was the first time she had made him tea on a date night. She unlocked the door of the cabinet and carefully withdrew the cup she had chipped so many years before. 

He kept it.

Even when he thought she was dead. Even when there was no chance to see her again. In both the previous world and this one, he kept it. More than that, he put it in plain sight, in a position where he could see it every day, to remember her.

Belle took a quivering breath.

Even if he had never said the words to her, seeing that cup would have told her everything she needed to know.

With the tea brewed, she poured his into the cup and her own into a mug, then returned up to the bedroom with them and a book tucked under her arm. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes were closed when she entered the room, but he opened them a crack as she approached the bed. “Back already?” he murmured. 

She set down her mug on the bedside cabinet, the book on the bed, and sat down beside him. “I told you I would be,” she said. “Here.” She offered him the cup. “I added some honey to your tea. I thought it might help your throat.”

He took the cup as if it were as fragile as spun glass, gazing at it. “Why this cup, dear?” he asked quietly. He cradled it between his palms, the rim balancing on his fingertips. “There are so many others.”

“You know why,” she said, curling her legs up on the bed. She slipped her arm around his shoulder. She could feel the heat of his fevered skin through his pyjamas, and tilted her head to rest against his brow. “It’s special.”

He slanted a look at her from the corner of her eye and she recognised the twitch of his lip when he said, “Poison again?”

She laughed. “I wondered if you would remember that.”

“Always.” 

It was barely a whisper against the chipped rim of the cup, and his eyes didn’t quite meet hers, but it was enough to make her own eyes prick with uncalled for tears. She nestled closer to him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

She retrieved her mug, sipping her own tea.

It should have been strange, awkward, with silence between them, but it wasn’t.

It felt comfortable and safe and peaceful.

“I’m sorry tonight wasn’t better,” he murmured eventually, once the tea was drunk and he was turning the cup round and round in his hands. His hands were always so animated, she noticed, even when he was acting as if he was completely at ease.

Belle put her half-empty mug back on the bedside cabinet. “I don’t mind,” she said, lifting his chin in her hand and turning his face to hers. His eyes were brighter than usual, and already drooping with weariness. The fever was leaving his skin hot to the touch. “You can’t help being sick.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, leaning closer to her and nudging her brow with his. “Something special.”

She smiled. “Get better first,” she said, smoothing his sweat-damp hair. “Once you’re better, you can shower me with diamonds or bring me all the pudding in the world. But you have to be better first.”

“No more swooning on the floor?” he said drowsily.

She reached down and gently plucked the cup from his fingertips and placed it beside her mug. “No more swooning,” she confirmed. “And no more trying to get to the bathroom on your own, until you can stand on your own two feet.”

When he didn’t protest, she knew he was too tired. 

“Here,” she murmured, using the arm about his shoulder to draw him down. He murmured a vague complaint, which faded as she let him pillow his head on her thigh. “Rest your head, Rumpelstiltskin. I’ll take care of you.”

He curled his hand beside his cheek, nudging at her leg as if kneading a pillow. 

Belle looked down at him, so fragile, so vulnerable, and yet trusting her so very much. She drew her fingers through his hair gently, untangling the knots and brushing her palm lightly over his forehead.

“Read to me?” he asked in a small, weary voice.

“If you like,” she replied softly. “I have the perfect story for you.”

“Mm?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, picking up her book with her free hand. “The Princess Bride.”

His lips stirred briefly, and she felt his sigh against her skirts. “As you wish.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to be a coward for Belle's sake, but some things were more terrifying than witches and ogres. He ran his hands around the edge of the steering wheel. He was being a complete coward, he knew. He had been sitting in the car outside the shop for twenty minutes. 

He glanced at his watch again. 

There was no time to delay. 

Rumpelstiltskin climbed out of the car and crossed the road to approach the florist's shop. The sign showed that it was open. He hesitated only a moment before laying his hand on the handle of the door and pushing it open. 

The young assistant was working on the shop floor, sorting out bouquets, but he stopped dead at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin, backing away. "Sir!" he shouted. "Sir, you might want to get out here!"

Sir Maurice emerged from the back of the shop a moment later. He was carrying a large pair of wire clippers and held them as a knight might hold a sword. Pale eyes settled on Rumpelstiltskin's face, and Rumpelstiltskin saw Sir Maurice's hand tighten on the grip of the clippers. "You can go," he said to the younger man. "I think I know why our... friend is here."

Rumpelstiltskin waited until the young soldier fled. "You've been expecting me?"

Sir Maurice set the clippers down on the counter and rested his hands on the glass. "I've been hearing stories," he acknowledged, "of a monstrous beast courting a beautiful girl." He drummed his fingers on the counter, his eyes never leaving Rumpelstiltskin's face. "You know she hasn't even visited me once."

Rumpelstiltskin lowered his eyes. "She didn't know you were here," he said, then raised his eyes, "and I didn't know she was unaware."

"Ha!"

Rumpelstiltskin's lips pressed together. "Think what you like," he said, "I'm here on her behalf. I want her to be happy."

Sir Maurice folded his arms over his broad chest. "The powerful and mighty Rumpelstiltskin coming to me for something he wants?" he said. "Last time I wanted anything from you, you beat the hell out of me over a bloody teacup."

"I thought you had her killed," Rumpelstiltskin snarled. 

Sir Maurice's eyes widened in astonishment. "You what?"

Rumpelstiltskin drew a breath, calming himself. "I sent her away," he said. "I released her. She was meant to come home to you, but she was captured on the road. I was told that you had sent her to the clerics for her association with me. That you had her tortured until she killed herself. You were meant to keep her safe, and I was told you caused her death."

The florist knight stared at him. "Bloody hell," he said quietly. "Bloody buggering hell."

Rumpelstiltskin's lips twitched ruefully. "I see you've taken to your false memories," he said.

"Yeah," Sir Maurice said, rubbing a hand over his face. "More colourful for swearing, deffo." He shook his head. "I don't understand. You let her go? You made her promise forever."

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "You said you'd heard stories of a monster courting a beauty," he said quietly. "Your daughter brings out the best in me."

"Jesus Christ." The man sat down heavily on the stool behind the counter. "You and my girl? It's not just gossip?"

Rumpelstiltskin had a horrible feeling he was blushing like a schoolboy, which was ridiculous, given how much older he was than the man in front of him. "That's why I'm here," he said, fiddling with the handle of his cane. 

Blue eyes stared at him. "You're here to get my permission? Jesus on a pogo stick."

Rumpelstiltskin shifted from foot to foot. "I would treat her well," he said. 

"I'm not an idiot," Sir Maurice said bluntly. "I've heard all the stories about you. There's not a one about you taking a woman, not as a captive, not as a servant. To be honest, we all thought you were a poofter or something. It was all that skipping about you did."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "Charmed, I'm sure," he said.

"Charmed, but not bent," Sir Maurice said. He sighed. "Why? Why her? Does she know?"

Rumpelstiltskin circled the scrollwork on the cane with his thumb. "She knows," he said, "and she feels the same."

Sir Maurice rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "Jesus," he said again, quietly.

There was a long silence.

Rumpelstiltskin broke it by saying, "She would like to see you. We... we're having dinner this evening. I..." It felt like the words were catching in his throat. It was hardly a proper date night, if he brought her father along as chaperone, but bridges had to be mended. "You'd be welcome to come to see her."

"At your house?"

"Yes."

"The house I burgled?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

Sir Maurice laughed in disbelief. "Well," he said, "at least I know where it is." He drummed his fingers on the counter. "What time?"

"Six-thirty," Rumpelstiltskin said at once. He hesitated, then said, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."

"You mean the arse-kicking?" Sir Maurice said.

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head. "In my defence, you did rob me."

"Says the man who pinched my daughter and my van," Sir Maurice countered. He held up his hands. "Let's try for a pax at least, for Belle's sake. You guarantee you won't bash me again, and I won't come after you with a hedgetrimmer. Unless you upset my girl."

"If I do anything to upset her, I'll hand you the hedgetrimmer myself," Rumpelstiltskin agreed. 

That more than anything seemed to meet with Sir Maurice's approval. "I'll see you tonight, then," he said.

"Tonight," Rumpelstiltskin echoed, then left the shop as quickly as he could to keep from saying anything that might change the man's mind. It was a relief to sink back into the car, and he looked at his palms. They were damp and clammy with sweat. Strange that a man such as Sir Maurice could reduce him to such human fear. 

He turned the key in the ignition and headed for home. He knew Belle would be out. Red and Snow insisted on taking her out for coffee, which meant he had time to prepare a decent meal for her reunion with her father. It was a suitable present, he thought. She hadn't taken her freedom, when he had offered it so many years before, not until he cast her out, but he could give her back her family. 

The kitchen was full of the scent of roasting lamb when she returned. He was preparing vegetables and smiled as she crept up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. 

"You've been busy."

"Only a roast, dearie," he said, patting one of her hands. "Nothing too special."

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Can I do anything?"

"You can do anything you please," he said with a smile. "Everything should be ready in half an hour."

She squeezed him warmly. "I'll go and freshen up," she said. "You don't mind if I dress down tonight?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "You could wear a paper bag for all that I notice what you're wearing," he said. "How could I see anything beyond your smile?"

It always pleased him that he could make her blush so easily. "Are you trying to earn a kiss?"

He chuckled. "Do they have to be earned now?"

In response, she kissed his briefly on the cheek. "Maybe," she said. "I'll be back in a while."

He waved her away. "Take your time, dear. I'll be here."

By the time she returned, the vegetables were cooking and he had laid the table. 

Belle frowned at it. "Three places?"

He looked at her guilelessly. "Didn't I mention that we were having company?" he said, polishing a glass and setting it down.

"Oh." She sounded so disheartened that he almost felt his resolve cracking. Her father's arrival was to be a surprise, and he wanted to keep it that way, but if she made another sorrowful little sound like that, he knew he would be telling her all in moments. She twisted her hands together. "Who?"

"You'll find out shortly," he promised, putting out his hand to cover hers. "No need for concern."

She turned her hands under his, capturing his fingers. "Why not tell me, then?"

He smiled. "Can't a man have any mysteries?"

Her blue eyes narrowed and her lips twitched. "When it comes to you, I think you're built of them," she said, squeezing his fingers. "Is it good company, at least?"

"That's a matter of opinion," he admitted. "I think you'll like them."

"Hmm." She studied his face for a moment, then released his hands. "I'll get the good plates, then. We don't have visitors often. I want to make a good impression."

"When have you done anything but?" he inquired, returning to the stove.

He heard her laugh quietly. "Are you trying to soften me up?"

"Making up for lost time," he replied, smiling as the doorbell rang. "Would you be a dear...?"

"Fine," she said with feigned exasperation. She was too curious to see who was there to be truly annoyed. "I'll go and let your guest in." She smoothed her blouse and gave a twirl, setting her floor-length skirt whirling. "Do I look respectable?"

"Most certainly," he agreed, smiling. 

She hurried through towards the front door, and he followed, pausing in the living room, just in sight of the hall, as she unlatched the door and opened it. The sound she made was small and fragile, her hands leaping to her mouth. "Papa?" she whispered.

Sir Maurice's eyes were wet and bright. He was holding a bunch of flowers, a predictable present for a florist, but he dropped them at the sight of her, stepped across the threshold and picked her up in a bear hug. "Oh, Belle." His voice was as broken as hers. "Belle."

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her little feet dangling off the ground and she was laughing and sobbing. "I thought you were gone!" she gasped out. "I thought you were gone!"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled quietly, retreating back into the kitchen. Some reunions should be private, he knew. 

It was nearly ten minutes before they joined him. Belle was still holding onto her father's hand, and was dwarfed by the flowers she was carrying in her other arm. She released her father to rush over to him and hug him hard around the middle. 

"Thank you."

He looked down at her with the slightest of smirks. "Not so disappointed now, hmm?"

She made a face at him, though her smile broke through it. "You could have told me!"

"And spoiled the surprise?" he said, clasping his hand to his heart. "Oh, no, dearie. Never that." He looked over her head at her father. Sir Maurice was watching them both curiously, not without suspicion, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll take care of your flowers, then serve up dinner. You go and give your father the tour."

She beamed and nodded, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, then hurried back to her father's side, looping her arm through his. The house was large, it was true, but from the look on Sir Maurice's face, he wanted to ask his daughter if she was quite sure she knew what she was doing, and that was better not done in front of the object of her odd affections.

When they returned, he was carving the rack of lamb.

"Satisfied, dear?" he asked without turning.

"Satisfied enough," she replied, and he could hear the lightness in her voice. A tension that he had not noticed there before was suddenly gone. he glanced over his shoulder as she ushered her father to the table. "Do you need any help?"

He shook his head. "Everything is done," he said. "You can pour the wine if you like."

He served them their food, and sat opposite Sir Maurice, though he did not look at him. His eyes were for Belle alone, and she talked brightly, eagerly about her new post in the library, and of all the things she had planned. 

Her father asked questions about her well-being, about her private book collection - which had expanded so much that the room originally allocated at hers had been re-shelved by Grumpy - and all the careful questions that did not brush on what had happened after she left Rumpelstiltskin’s castle.

Whether she had said something to him while she showed him the house, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know, but he suspected not. She was smiling and happy. Her father wouldn’t have risked rousing unhappy memories for her. Rumpelstiltskin knew too well how she looked if she thought on her unhappy captivity.

They were on dessert when there was a question finally posed to Rumpelstiltskin himself.

“So, you’re happy to let my girl stay here?”

“Papa!” Belle protested, laughing. 

Sir Maurice gave her a fond look. “Well, I know you like to choose your own fate. How do I know he’s not just letting you stay because he’s scared you’ll kick his arse?”

She reached over and swatted her father’s arm, her eyes dancing. “Tell him,” she said, with a smile for Rumpelstiltskin.

“What do you want me to tell him, dear?” Rumpelstiltskin replied innocently. She gave him a stern look and he chuckled, folding his napkin. “Rest assured, Sir Maurice, your daughter is welcome in my home as long as she can stand me.”

She scooted her chair over and clasped his hand. “I gave you forever before,” she said, her eyes bright. “I stand by that.”

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin forgot completely about the other man in the room.

A chair’s legs scraped on the floor.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled back from Belle. The impulse to kiss her had almost overwhelmed him, and he knew that if he had, he would very likely end up wearing the remain of the jug of water that was sitting on the table. He looked across at Sir Maurice who was watching him with a steady gaze.

“Belle, love,” her father said. “Would you mind giving us a minute?”

She looked between them. “This is some man-thing, isn’t it?” she said, with a rueful smile. She squeezed Rumpelstiltskin’s hand, which did little to ease the uneasiness he felt being left alone with her father. “I’ll be in the living room.”

Sir Maurice waited until the door was closed. He was still holding his napkin, and bringing it down on the palm of his left hand, dragging it between his fingers, then repeating the motion over and over again. Rumpelstiltskin could recognise nervous gestures, and he could tell that Sir Maurice was not nervous. 

“Is this where you threaten me?” Rumpelstiltskin asked as lightly as he could.

“And where would that get me?” Sir Maurice said. “I know you’re more powerful than I am. I know you’ve got magic. I’m not stupid enough to imagine you’d be easy to take out.” He set the napkin down. “I wondered if you’d messed around with her head. Bespelled her.”

“I would ne…”

“Let me finish,” Sir Maurice said sharply. “I said I wondered. I know my girl. I could see her looking right back at me. You did nothing to her. She told me that much, and I would know if my girl was lying. The worst you did was throw her out to be caught by that bitch who called herself Mayor.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his teeth, nodded. It was true that crime was his own to answer to.

“We’re going to have a new deal, you and I,” Sir Maurice continued, as bold as he had ever been in the fairytale lands. “You’re the only one stronger than the Queen. I know she hurt Belle, and I know she’ll probably come after her again.” He pushed his chair back and rose. “My deal is this: as long as you keep my Belle safe and loved and worshipped like she deserves, I won’t say a word against you. I won’t argue. I won’t try and lure her away from here, even if I think she could do a hell of a lot better than you. She wants to be here, and for whatever reason, she loves you. No one decides her fate, remember.” He leaned forward, his voice hard and cold. “And you will keep her safe, or by the Gods, I will find some way to end you.”

Rumpelstiltskin was torn between anger at being spoken to in such a way or satisfaction that his first assessment of Sir Maurice was right after all. He rose from his own chair, setting his folded napkin down on the edge of the table. “Deal,” he said. 

Sir Maurice straightened up. Nodded. “Good.” He headed towards the living room door, then paused. “Your lamb was overcooked.”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t try me,” he said, though there was little enough threat in the words.

Sir Maurice met his eyes. “Take care of her.”

“I will,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “A deal, remember.”

Sir Maurice studied him, then turned and walked through the door. 

Rumpelstiltskin occupied himself by tidying up the kitchen. He could hear them talking, their voices muffled through the door. Things needed to be said, farewells to be made, and he knew he had no part of what was between a parent and a child. 

The dishwasher was loaded and rumbling softly, and he was watching the kettle rise to a boil when the front door closed. He didn’t turn or look around, but did fetch a second teacup for her.

“Thank you,” Belle said quietly.

He set the cup, aligned it with his own. “It’s no matter, dearie,” he said, “truly.”

She crossed the floor, caught his arm and pulled him around to face him. There were tears in her eyes. “No,” she said. “This was the kindest thing you could have done for me.” She reached up and brushed her hand along his cheek. “Thank you.”

He tried to smile, but instead, he just drew her into his arms and hugged her. “I know the value of the love between a parent and a child,” he murmured. “How could I refuse you yours?”

She hugged him so tightly his ribs ached, then drew back, smiling. “So just how much did he threaten you?” she asked.

“Threaten me, dear?”

She nodded, reaching around him for the tea caddy and spooning tea into the pot. “Don’t play the innocent,” she said. “I know my father. I would be impressed if he restrained himself to just threatening to behead you or burn you at the stake if you if you harmed me.”

He chuckled ruefully. “That did come as something of a surprise,” he admitted. 

She nudged him in the ribs. “Oh, really?” she said. “Rumpelstiltskin, you know me. You know that I don’t hesitate to speak my mind. What on earth makes you think my father would be any different?”

He wrinkled his nose. “You, at least, have charm with it,” he said.

She giggled, and leaned closer to kiss him gently. “Why thank you,” she said, then picked the kettle off the hob.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, watching her fill the teapot. Sir Maurice never needed to know that he never needed to make a deal. Belle would always be loved, protected and worshipped as she deserved. Rumpelstiltskin knew no deal in the world could ever compel him to love and protect her more than he already did.


	5. Fifth Date

Belle was unimpressed.

For one thing, she had assumed that City Hall would have had the budget to afford shackles or handcuffs or something more intimidating than plastic zip cords. At least, she assumed it was City Hall. It smelled like it: burnt wood and melted plastic from one of the big fire fights between the magic users. 

Someone had shoved a bag over her head and hauled her in. 

She had a feeling Rumpelstiltskin would be showing up any moment. He really didn’t like it when someone threatened her. To add insult to injury, she was also in one of her best dresses, and she had heard it rip when she was pulled into the back of a van.

Belle wasn’t scared. 

It wasn’t that she was stupid, she just knew that she was only useful as a bargaining chip, not as a corpse. If Regina even dared to harm one hair on her head, everyone in town would be forfeit and no one, not even Regina, had the nerve to take on Rumpelstiltskin when he knew the magic better than almost anyone. 

She shifted. They had set her on a seat, which was better than the floor, but the bag was still over her head. 

“Hello?” she said, on the off-chance that someone might be around. “Can you take this bag off? It’s quite itchy.”

No one replied and she sighed impatiently. She was meant to meet Rumpelstiltskin at the diner. They were trying out a casual date for once. A list of the cheaper eateries had been put in a hat, and the Diner had been the one they picked. Rumpelstiltskin tried to toss it back in before she saw it, but he was too late. 

Belle shifted her wrists against the restraints. She was securely fastened to the chair by her arms. She frowned thoughtfully. Her legs, though…

Carefully, she stood up and bent forward as much as she could. She knew she probably looked ridiculous, but with some creative dancing about, she managed to dislodge the cloth bag and it dropped to the floor. 

It was City Hall. Not the main hall, of course, but one of the side rooms, just off the main hall. There was no one around, but she could hear voices on the far side of the door. Bent double, the chair at her back, she edged closer and tried to peer through the keyhole. 

“Drat!” There was a key blocking the way.

She turned as carefully as she could, trying not to make a sound and looked around. There was only one door into the room, but there were windows in two of the walls. It was dark outside, which meant there would be fewer people around, but it couldn’t hurt to peep out the window and see if there was someone who could let Rumpelstiltskin know where she was.

She almost shrieked when Henry Mills’ face appeared at the window. He beamed, waving at her, then held up a crowbar.

“Henry?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

Even if he couldn’t hear her, he could guess what she was saying and mouthed back, “Rescuing you!” He beckoned someone urgently and his grandfather joined him at the window, both of them hauling on the crowbar to lever the window open. 

The window creaked as it was wedged upwards, and as soon as it was wide enough, the Prince hoisted Henry up and through. The boy pulled his rucksack off. Weeks of dodging battles had made him organised and he pulled out wire cutters. 

“Rumpelstiltskin was going to explode,” he informed her. “You’re the only one who can stop him.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” Belle said, wincing as the restraints fell free and the blood flowed back to her hands. She stood up from the chair. “Thank you, Henry. You too, James.” With some negotiation and averted eyes, she managed to climb out of the window with them. “Where is he?”

“He said you were meant to be a distraction, to keep him away from the house,” James replied. “He said Regina’s after something he has there. He sent us to find you.”

Belle stared at them. “She’s going after something in my house?”

“You okay, Belle?”

Belle balled her fists. “No, I’m not,” she said. “Do you have a car nearby?”

“We call it Noble Steed!” Henry said, grabbing her hand. “Are we going to the rescue?”

“We most certainly are.”

It took them less than ten minutes to get across town and Belle was out of the truck and running for the front door before the car even came to a stop. The door of the house was wide open. She could hear raised voices within, and could smell the crackle of magic in the air.

Belle didn’t know where her shoes were. Her stockings were torn to ribbons on her bare feet. Her hair was a mess. Her best dress was ruined. Her date night had turned into an abduction and magic battle.

And Regina was just inside the open door, power surging around her hands, and Rumpelstiltskin was facing them both. He saw Belle, and she saw the flicker of terror in his eyes, that she would be in danger, that he wouldn’t be quick enough to save her if Regina realised she was there. 

She made things simpler and brought a flower pot down on Regina’s head with all the force she could muster. The pot shattered and Regina tottered, falling, showered with dirt. The Queen looked up with cross-eyed confusion.

“Don’t interrupt my date night,” Belle told her, then balled her fist just like her papa had taught her when the stable boys teased her, and socked the Queen right on the nose. 

“Aw,” Henry complained from the doorway. “I didn’t even get to use my sword!”

“That’s the best kind of battle, Henry,” his grandfather said. “Need someone to take out the trash, Belle?”

Belle looked around at them. “If you wouldn’t mind.” She stepped to one side as the prone Queen was hauled out of the building by her ankles. Henry saluted with a grin and closed the door after them. 

The door was barely closed before Rumpelstiltskin had her in his arms, and she wasn’t about to protest. She wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but her hand was in his hair, and he was holding her so close, it felt like they might actually merge together, both breathing raggedly desperately, as if they had been afraid they would never see one another again.

They only broke the kiss to catch their breath and his trembling hand traced her cheekbone, and she realised that while she hadn’t been afraid, he couldn’t say the same. 

She wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him, but her stomach got their first with the most embarrassingly wet growl she had ever heard. 

Both of them stared at each other, then Belle started laughing helplessly, dropping her head forward to rest on his shoulder. “I might have missed dinner in all the abduction and escaping and everything…”

“I’ll cook,” he said at once, his arm around her shoulder. “We have plenty in the fridge.”

Her own arm slipped around his waist. “You’re too good to me,” she said softly.

“It’s no matter,” he said quietly. She could feel his hand trembling close to her shoulder, and knew that he really had been terrified that she was lost. So much so that he had trusted other people to rescue her, while he kept their shared enemy as far from her as possible.

“It matters,” she said. He didn’t meet her eyes, reluctantly breaking away from her to go to the refrigerator. He got two steps before she caught his wrist. “Rumpelstiltskin.”

He looked at her, forlorn, lost. “I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said.

“Oh, love,” Belle whispered, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “I was safe. I was only a distraction for you. She wouldn’t have hurt me.” She nuzzled his cheek. “I know she’s still too afraid of you for that.”

He drew back to look down at her. “From tonight, I think she’ll be more afraid of you,” he offered with a small, cautious smile. “An unusual choice of weapon, dear.”

She laughed quietly. “It was that or the watering can,” she admitted. “The plant pot had a bit more weight.” She drew back from him, but caught his hands. “I think we should order food in. We can have tea and biscuits until it gets here. I’d rather just sit down with you for a little while.”

He nodded, his whole body so rigid it looked like it was jerking with the nod. “Sitting with you would be more than enough,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

Belle leaned up and kissed him again, wishing she could ease his fears. “I’ll order,” she said, “and you can make the tea.” 

She had barely opened the kitchen door to fetch the telephone from the hall when she heard the tight, pained sound that escaped him. He wouldn’t let her see his distress, not yet, but she would help. She knew him well enough.

She gave him a moment, while she ordered from one of the Chinese restaurants in town. She wasn’t quite sure if it was technically legal for a monkey to be the manager of a restaurant, but given that the Diner was owned by werewolves, it was hardly her place to judge. He seemed a nice enough man in his Storybrooke guise. On the few occasions that she had visited the shop, he was always charming, though he never removed his headband, just in case.

By the time she slipped back into the kitchen, he looked calmer, and was watching as steam puffed from the spout of the kettle.

Belle padded across the floor, only now becoming aware that her feet were sore. “Do you want biscuits too?” she asked, reaching into one of the cupboards.

“I think I could suffer one or two,” he agreed. “How long…?”

“About twenty minutes,” she replied, nibbling on a biscuit. She leaned against his arm as he made the tea. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” He looked at her in astonishment. “Belle, you were abducted. Again. Because of me.”

She twined her arm around his. “It’s not as exciting as you might think,” she said. She propped her chin on his shoulder, looking at him. “You don’t have to worry, Rumpelstiltskin. I don’t care if they drag me away a thousand times. I would still come back.”

“It shouldn’t even be an option,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “I would never put you in harm’s way intentionally.”

She smiled at him, small and warm. “I know,” she said, “and that’s why I would still come back.” She leaned up to kiss him gently. “Come on. Let’s sit in the living room. I’d like a soft seat and a chance to put my feet up.”

“As my lady wishes,” he agreed, handing one of the teacups to her. She held the door open for him, and waited to walk side by side with him to the couch. It felt better being by his side, when he was upset, and she was calm.

She had always been able to tell when he was scared, even when he tried to hide it. As much as he loved her for her bravery, she loved him for the bravery he tried to show in the face of terror.

Belle sprawled down onto the couch with her tea, letting him settle himself before she propped her legs across his lap. “I’m going to need some new stockings,” she said, looking ruefully at the tangled shreds that were clinging to her legs. 

“And a new dress,” he said, tugging the place where the seams had split. "They didn't hurt you?"

She shook her head with a smile. "They wouldn't dare," she said. "Just a bag over my head and tied me to a chair."

"Just a bag..." He stared at her. "You are far too brave for your own good, dear."

Belle settled back against one of the cushions. "I've had worse," she said. "At least this time, there was a window." She glanced at her feet, then grimaced. "I should probably wash my feet before I trail dirt all over the house. I landed in the flowerbeds behind City Hall."

He slipped his hand under her ankle and gently lifted her foot to examine it, then surprised her by swearing. "You didn't say you were hurt!" he said. "Your feet are cut to ribbons."

Belle frowned. "They are? I didn't even notice."

He lifted both her legs from his lap and rose at once, picking up his cane. "You stay here. I'll fetch some water and bandages to clean you up." He patted her knee. "Don't run off."

"I don't plan on it," she replied, propping her legs on a cushion to keep the dirt off the couch.

Within five minutes, he returned with basin of warm water laced with antiseptic. If it hadn't stung so much, it might have felt luxurious to have her loved one sitting on a footstool, his sleeves rolled up, and carefully washing her feet. The water rippled around his hands as he used a soft cloth to clean the worst of the dirt away. 

She sipped her tea, watching him. He looked so intent on his task, committing all the focus he once applied to magic and spinning to her instead. "We should do this more often," she murmured. "It's very relaxing."

"Apart from the cause," he replied, raising his eyes to hers.

She raised her teacup in salute. "I'll agree with that," she said. she wiggled her toes as he lifted her foot up to the towel resting in his lap. "Am I all clean?"

"All clean," he agreed, wrapping the fluffy white towel around her foot and drying each toe in turn. He unfurled the towel and pressed his palm lightly to her sole. A puff of magic whorled around her foot, healing up the cuts and scrapes from the sidewalk. The wounds must have been small enough to make it possible. His poor knee, though, was beyond his help, with the power so unpredictable. He glanced up at her. "How does that feel?"

She wiggled her toes. "Perfect," she said with a smile. "Thank you."

He had barely finished treating her other foot when the doorbell rang. 

"I'll get it," she said happily, swinging her legs down from his and stepping lightly on her healed feet. 

"The wallet should be in the left breast pocket of the black coat," he called after her.

It took the work of two minutes to pay for the food and carry it through to the kitchen. She opened up the boxes, peeking inside to check the orders. Rumpelstiltskin came into the kitchen to empty the basin, then crept up behind her, resting his hands at her waist. 

"Through here?" he said, "or shall we be uncouth and go to the living room?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a smile. "Well, there's a smashed plant pot in the hall, my dress is all ripped, and I punched someone. I think it's a night to be uncouth."

He chuckled and kissed the side of her throat. "As my lady wishes," he murmured against her skin.

Her breath caught, and she abandoned the boxes to hold his hands where they were. Her fingers slipped between his, and she drew his arms around her, leaning back into him. She could see them both, reflected faintly in the windows, and she squeezed his hands.

"You won't leave me?" he asked quietly.

"Not ever," she promised. "We made a deal, Rumpelstiltskin." She smiled at his reflection. "It's forever, dearie, remember?" She thought he might draw her round to kiss, but her stomach growled again under his hands. She felt her cheeks getting pinker. "So, uncouth it is," she said sheepishly.

"Food first," he declared, reluctantly loosening his hands from hers. "I can't be accused of starving you. Your father made some very pointed threats involving hedge trimmers and pruning shears if I didn't take good care of you."

She arranged the boxes of food onto a tray. "And what comes after food?" she asked, lifting the tray and turning to him. She knew she sounded eager, hopeful, even a little demanding, and he looked both surprised and pleased. "What shall we do when I'm all fed and watered?"

His dark eyes shone. "Well," he said, lifting his hand to caress her cheek, "I'm sure we can find something to occupy us."

Perhaps it was the abduction that had made them both forget about propriety. Perhaps for him, it was the thought of losing her and never having her in his arms again. She didn't know what it was, but they had never shared a meal so intimately. They sat on the couch, and her legs were draped over his. He offered her morsels of chicken, while she shared her noodles. Between bites, he even ventured so far as to steal a kiss. 

Her food was forgotten when his fingertips brushed her knee. It was barely a whisper of contact, just along the very edge of her skirt. His eyes met hers. This was new territory, after all. A kiss, an embrace, sleeping in one another's arms was one thing. This was something else entirely. 

Belle set aside her carton of food, then leaned closer to him to kiss him. It was the wordless encouragement he needed and she felt his hand brush her thigh beneath her skirt. One of them gasped. She wasn't sure which, and she drew her lips from his, her fingers tangled in his hair. They were so close that she could feel every trembling breath that escaped him.

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asked. She knew she was blushing. Why wouldn't she? She had never propositioned a man before, even if he was the love of her life.

He kissed her again, urgently, hungrily. "Gods, yes," he whispered against her lips, his fingers curling against the edge of her jaw. The tip of his nose brushed against hers. "Do you?"

She smiled against his lips, nodded. She swung her legs down from his, then offered him her hand, drawing him to his feet. Their fingers tangled together and they darted small, shy smiles at one another as they made their way towards the stairs and up to the bedroom.


	6. The Morning After

Rumpelstiltskin watched Belle sleeping.

She was smiling in her sleep, her arms wrapped around her pillow, her hair gathered around her face in wild, unruly curls. She looked at peace, content, beautiful, and he couldn’t stop gazing at her, drinking her in. 

He always found it amusing that she slept so well in his presence. He slept as little as ever, and often, he wondered if it was just so he could be awake to watch her sleep, when she was peaceful and untroubled.

As carefully as he could, he rose from the bed to fetch himself a glass of water.

It had been a breathless and wonderful night, but he certainly wasn’t as young as he had been and sometimes, a human body can only take so much exertion. 

He only realised when he was halfway across the room that something had changed.

When he brought magic back, the first thing he had tried to do was heal his knee enough to walk unaided, but the magic recoiled. He could grasp it, tendrils and wisps, but it was difficult to bend it to his will. It was like trying to step a waterfall with his bare hands. He wasn’t the only one either.

Rumpelstiltskin looked down, then walked two more steps. 

His leg didn’t hurt at all. 

He looked back at the bed, startled.

Surely, it couldn’t be something so simple, that let him get in touch with the magic he had been fighting to hard to grasp.

Perhaps it was pushing his luck, but just for good measure, he all but danced down the stairs to the kitchen. Not a twinge, not an ache. He took a trembling breath, then made a small gesture with one hand. The tap started running. A glass soared from a cupboard, filled, and flew to him. 

It was back. 

His magic was back.

It was as if a blindfold had been removed and suddenly, he could see again. 

He took a sip of the water, staring blindly into nothing.

If he had his magic back, then perhaps others did too. It didn’t really matter if they did or not. What really mattered was that Belle was safe, and that they could finally break through the walls separating Storybrooke from reality. They could find Bae.

He set the glass down, half-drunk, and made his way back upstairs. 

There could be no denying what they were to one another now, even if anyone had ever doubted it, and yet, the knowledge that his magic was back brought back an unexpected wave of fear too. He could protect her, but magic was the thing that made him do the most foolish things he had ever done. 

It was simple enough to say the words: I love you. Three words. Hardly a complicated matter at all. Now, they came easily. She knew he meant them, but he knew that words could be twisted, used, turned.

There was a room at the end of the hall, a room that had gone neglected for too long.

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and pushed it wide. His spinning wheel lay there, still and dusty. He ran his fingertips along the rim of the wheel. It was who he really was, the wheel. It was to help him remember that, to keep the humanity that so many believed he had lost.

He closed his eyes, took up the tangled wool, and remembered.

The wheel creaked quietly and he tasted the magic in the air.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes to see a perfect strand of golden thread.

Gold and spinning and a woman who loved him.

He broke the gold from the unchanged wool, twisted it in his hand. It shimmered softly, bright and delicate. It took no effort to twine it as if weaving with a fine spool of silk. A single strand was strong, but there was something significant about three strands woven together: it was stronger, it was unified. 

Three.

Father, mother, child.

The thought made his hands falter.

Could it be that way? If they made their way into the world, could Belle be mother to Bae and Bae son to Belle? He could not choose between them, not even if they both stood before him and demanded it. He had lost them both for too long before.

He looked at the gold in his hand.

Words could not be enough, not ever. He could never explain, never express what he felt, not in a way that made it truly clear.

He walked back towards the bedroom, and approached Belle’s side of the bed. His weight shifted the mattress enough to rouse her, and she stirred sleepily, rubbing her eye with a fist.

“Morning,” she murmured, a drowsy smile on her lips. “Sleep well?”

“Better than you can imagine,” he said, brushing curls back from her cheek with the back of his finger. “Belle, about last night…”

“It was lovely,” she said, stretching her arms. The blankets over her shifted and reminded her that beneath the covers, she was still very naked. “Messy and sticky, but it was lovely too.” She looked at him, suddenly wary. “You… don’t regret it?”

“Of course not,” he assured her, “but something… changed.”

She sat up, pulling the blankets with her to preserve her modesty. “What? Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”

He touched her shoulder soothingly. “Nothing like that,” he said. “I can touch magic again.”

She stared at him. “Properly?”

He nodded. “It’s just as it was before,” he said. “I don’t know why. I thought maybe true love’s kiss, but…”

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head. She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. She was blushing. “Maybe it’s because you were distracted last night.” A small smile played across her lips. “It would be nice to know I had your undivided attention.”

He stared at her. “That’s it,” he said dazedly. “Of course that’s it. Magic doesn’t come when forced. You have to let it come naturally.”

Belle dissolved into giggles. “So,” she said, wriggling closer to him, “does that mean I should distract you more often?”

He traced his fingers in circles on her bare shoulder. “Well, I wouldn’t object.”

All at once, he was tumbled onto his back on the bed and Belle kissed him happily. “Good,” she said, tugging at the belt of his dressing gown. He wasn’t one to object, especially not when she slipped out from under the blanket, all sleek and soft and pink.

The sun cut in through the window some time later, and he gazed at her admiringly, still flushed and a little breathless. Modesty had prevailed and she was wound up in the sheets, one leg draped over his. 

“Happy?” he asked.

She smiled, plumping a pillow up behind her. “Very. You?”

“I could be more so,” he said. Her face fell, until he held out his hand to her, opening it. 

Belle’s eyes widened and she stared at the ring of woven gold. “Rumpelstiltskin…”

“Marry me?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes! Of course!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand for the ring.

He offered her a small, playful smile. “It’s forever, dearie.”

She pulled a face at him, laughing. “Yes, still yes,” she said. “I will go with you forever.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from breaking across his face as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“After all,” she added, “someone has to make sure you behave.”

He feigned shock, hand to his chest. “Me, dearie?”

“Yes, you.” She kicked him lightly, tilting her hand towards the light. “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” He drew her into his arms. “I should be on my knees thanking you with my every breath.” he brushed her hair back over her shoulder, traced his fingertips lightly down her spine. “You’re the one who said yes.”

“Unfortunately, I have this problem where I love you,” she said, nestling against him. “It makes it kind of difficult to refuse.” She tilted her head up to claim a kiss. “I do have one condition, though.”

“Oh?”

She smiled. “We keep date night.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

The End


End file.
